


Elephant in the Room

by Intergalactic_Asher



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Prompt Fill, Washington is everyone's dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 16:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5423255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Intergalactic_Asher/pseuds/Intergalactic_Asher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Washington protected Hamilton, and one time he couldn't. Exactly as angsty as it sounds. Inspired by <a href="http://hamiltonprompts.tumblr.com/post/133371330038/id-love-a-long-or-multi-chapter-angsty-fic-about#notes">this</a> prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elephant in the Room

**Author's Note:**

> This was intended to fill [this](http://hamiltonprompts.tumblr.com/post/133371330038/id-love-a-long-or-multi-chapter-angsty-fic-about#notes) prompt for the Hamilton Prompts blog before I realized that had asked for a long/multi-chapter fic. I still like this one though.
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5257490/chapters/12130787>Actions</a>%20by%20angelicaschuyler%20came%20before%20this%20fic%20and%20fills%20the%20same%20prompt.%20It's%20a%20really%20great%20fic%20and%20y'all%20should%20read%20it!)

I.

_My dearest Mrs. Washington,_

_I was pleased to receive your letter last week and to hear that your sister is in good health. I also was happy to hear that your tomato garden is producing such excellent fruits. Any small news of the world beyond the battlefield is a great comfort to me, and allows me to remember what it is we are fighting for._

_Congress continues to promise three times what they deliver. We are forced into retreat after retreat. I know that if we were better stocked we could hold more of the city, and it infuriates me that we have been pushed back so far. We are like a mouse forced back towards its hole by legions of cats. Even so, our cause and the hearts of our men are superior, and I know that a free America awaits us on the other side of this war._

_I have secured a new aide-de-camp. He truly surpasses the title in his dedication to service and to our new nation; however, his skills are constantly under threat of being outstripped by his rashness. You would like Hamilton, Martha. He is young, an orphan, just as full of fire as I was when I first met you. He is desperate to prove himself through any means possible, as my aide or in the glory of battle. I have taken it as a personal project to keep him alive through the war. I ask for your prayers and support, as this is sure to be a nearly impossible task._

_Hoping to hear soon of the news at Mt. Vernon. I miss you and the children as dearly as ever, no matter how many surrogates I take on in the Continental Army._

_My dear_  
_Patcy Yr Affecte_  
_Go: Washington_

George Washington set down his quill, sat back in his chair, rubbed his eyes. It had been quite a day. The Continental Army had been forced to retreat once again; they were confined to Harlem now. Washington had fought with at least three lieutenant colonels and come near dismissing two of them. He’d hardly been able to find a moment to breathe since dawn.

And then there was Hamilton.

Washington was more anxious than he’d let on to his wife about hiring him. The boy certainly had a flair with the quill, but half the reason Washington had taken him as an aide-de-camp was to keep a closer eye on him. He was the type of man who would die over the first cause he could find. Washington was a seasoned soldier. He knew that men died in battle, even bright young men with the whole world ahead of them. He had made his peace with this. But he just couldn’t let Hamilton into danger. Perhaps he saw too much of himself in the fiery young man, desperate for any chance to prove himself. Maybe it was some divine will working through him to keep Hamilton alive. Heaven knew the man wasn’t going to do it himself.

Whatever the reason, there was excuse enough in Hamilton’s writing skills. Those would be an undeniable asset to Washington,who foresaw much need to beg for funds. They would start on Congress in the morning, then write to some of the richer Whigs up north, asking for just a bit more in donations. In the meantime, Washington thought, standing up and stretching his aching back, it was certainly time to retire for the night.

Washington walked once around the camp before he returned to his tent, ensuring that all was in order. He exchanged greetings with the guards, and any officers he passed on his way. The last leg of his walk brought him past his aides’ tents, last of all the one where Hamilton had just today taken up residence with his friend John Laurens. Despite the late hour, he could hear Hamilton’s excited chatter coming from the tent. He was in the middle of some soliloquy of how this was his one shot; how he wouldn’t waste the opportunity Washington had given him. Washington stopped to listen for a moment, smiling. He opened the flap of the tent to tell his aides to go to bed.

Hamilton and Laurens were lying together on Laurens’ bedroll, arms wrapped around each other. Hamilton spoke with his face just peeking out over Laurens’ shoulder, his waistcoat undone, one hand tangled in Laurens’ hair. Laurens was staring at Hamilton with an intensity Washington had never seen in him. The two were pressed close together despite the warm summer night, clearly-

He was walking away. The scene emblazoned itself in his mind, but in front of him was only the dirt path that led to his tent. He didn’t stop, didn’t think, until he was undressed and had laid down to sleep.

He wouldn’t do anything about it. Of course he wouldn’t. He hadn’t seen anything to provoke action, anyway. Men had their own reasons to choose whatever sleeping arrangements they wished; there was no reason to suspect what Washington found himself suspecting. What was more, he wasn’t going to lose two of his best aides over something so trivial. (Trivial was one word for it. Sinful was another - but that was God’s purview, not Washington’s.) No, Washington would keep quiet. He wasn’t going to let Hamilton be sent back to the militia and die over this, he thought, turning over on his cot. He’d made a pledge to himself to keep the boy alive. He wouldn’t go back on his word.

 

“I really think this appointment will- what was that?” Hamilton asked suddenly. He scooted up on Laurens’ bedroll to look at the opening of their tent.

“Hm?” Laurens seemed to come out of some kind of daze, turning to watch the opening as well. “What is it?”

“I thought I saw the door open, but…”

Laurens shook his head, pulling Alexander back down next to him. “Just the wind, dearest,” he said. “Come on, sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow.”

Hamilton watched the door another moment, then turned over to rest his head against Laurens’ shoulder. “Good night,” he said, beginning to doze off already.

“Good night, love.”

 

II.

The wedding party had grown smaller and smaller as it had moved from Philip Schuyler’s mansion, to a bar nearby, and finally to the parlor of the Hamiltons’ new home in Harlem. Lafayette and Mulligan had stumbled drunkenly off long ago; even Eliza had left some time ago to get ready for bed. The remaining party consisted of Hamilton and Laurens, watching each other, and Washington, unnoticed, watching them.

There was a thickness to the silence in the room, broken only when Hamilton or Laurens would pick up his drink or set it down again. Washington’s own glass was empty; there was no reason for him to still be here. He couldn’t seem to convince himself to leave.

Seconds stretched into minutes. Eliza would surely be wondering by now why her husband hadn’t come to join her. Still the men remained at their table, practically motionless, staring at each other.

Neither of them noticed when Washington stood up and left the room.

It violated all rules of etiquette for Washington to make his way down Hamilton’s hallway, to find the door that must lead to Hamilton and Eliza’s bedroom (where Eliza, no doubt, was waiting for her husband), to knock softly on the door.

“Alexander?” came Eliza’s hushed voice.

“No, Ma’am,” he said quickly, not wanting her to open the door and show him anything indecent. “You needn’t let me in, I only wished to speak with you.”

Silence inside the room. As a general, Washington had studied the use of words, had gained the ability to hone them to his purposes. He had become very good at it. But he would never have Hamilton’s natural eloquence. Perhaps Hamilton could have made his strange request sound less… Off-putting.

“I wondered,” he continued, “if you knew who it is that still inhabits your parlor at this hour.”

Another moment of silence. Then, quietly, “John Laurens, I expect.”

She knew, then. “You do have the right to evict him, Madam. This is your house. He is your husband.”

Washington thought he could hear the door creak slightly, as if Eliza were leaning on it. “I don’t wish to exacerbate his… Predicament. I do not know Laurens, but I know that my husband loves me. Hurting me is not his intention.”

“And how would you resolve the predicament in which you find yourselves?” Perhaps Washington was being too bold -- but of course, he was too bold when he came here in the first place.

At any rate, Eliza didn’t seem to be backing away. “Alexander doesn’t give his love away easily,” she said. Washington could tell that she had been thinking about this a long time. “He wouldn’t be so close with somebody who didn’t deserve it. Perhaps if I… Knew Laurens better, it would be easier.”

Washington felt his face grow hot. Eliza was not known for wit as her sister was, but she apparently shared Hamilton’s talent for dual conversations. He thought he could understand why Hamilton was so taken with her.

“I think friendship between the three of you would make them both happy,” he said. The double entendre feld awkward and wrong in his mouth. This was irresponsible of him. It was not his duty to matchmake -- much less to encourage this sort of debauchery.

If he didn’t, though, Laurens and Hamilton would keep sitting there staring at each other til morning.

There was another moment of silence, and then, “Thank you, Sir.”

Washington returned to his corner of the parlor. The candles were burning low by now, and he returned to his chair in the shadows. Laurens and Hamilton, still locked in their staring contest, would not have paid him any mind anyways.

It was a few minutes before Eliza came into the room. She wore only her nightgown, and Washington felt deeply ashamed to see someone, much less a married woman, so naked. She rested a hand on her husband’s shoulder and one on Laurens’. The two men started out of their trance and turned to look at her, each with a mortified expression on his face. Alexander made to speak, but Eliza cut him off. When she addressed them her voice was too low for Washington to hear what she said, but he didn’t need to hear to understand. Hamilton and Laurens seemed to relax as she said her piece. At the end of it they stood up, neither too steady on his feet, and the three of them left the room together.

Washington had never expected that he would tolerate something like this, much less have a hand in creating it. He was quite certain he’d damned the three of them along with himself.

The way they all smiled at each other as they left the room almost convinced him it was worth it.

 

III.

“Go home, Alexander. That’s an order from your commander.”

“But, sir-”

“Go. Home.”

Washington didn’t look as Hamilton left his tent, but he could imagine the look on the man’s face. He had never spoken so harshly to Hamilton. There may have been some credibility to the accusations of favoritism that floated around the camp -- he tried to treat Hamilton as he would anyone else, but he found himself liking Hamilton in a way he didn’t like most of his men, save perhaps the Marquis. In the face of Hamilton’s constant insubordination this was both baffling and problematic for his reputation as a fair commander. At any rate, his outburst must have startled Hamilton, who was gone by the time Washington looked up.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, let out a sigh. Like most of his actions in regards to Hamilton, his motivations for this were twofold. There was no doubt Hamilton had had a significant hand in engineering the duel, and Washington was more than a little fed up with his antics. Secondary to this -- and it was secondary, he told himself -- there was the letter from Eliza.

He’d barely had a moment to breathe before he heard footsteps. John Laurens stormed into his tent without asking permission, and began speaking in a similar manner.

“Your Excellency, you can’t sent Alexander home. It was my fault, he only signed on to protect me-”

“I have many reasons to doubt that, Lieutenant Colonel.”

“But it’s true, Sir! Hamilton didn’t do anything wrong. Please, think about how much work he does, he just wants-”

“Eliza is pregnant.”

The words stopped Laurens in his tracks. Washington looked up at him; he was clearly struggling for words.

“She wrote me a month ago to tell me. I promised her I would do my best to send the child’s father home.” He placed the slightest emphasis on the word father. Laurens’ expression didn’t change, but he blushed just enough to make his freckles stand out, and that told Washington all he needed to know.

“I am doing my best to keep Hamilton alive, Lieutenant Colonel, but I don’t imagine he’ll remain so if you keep going along with his dangerous plans. Do you understand?”

Laurens seemed to shrink. “Your Excellency, I never- I wouldn’t dream of putting him in danger…”

“I know.” Washington turned to look at the battlefield maps strewn across his table. He scanned them for a moment before speaking. “What do you think about going to South Carolina, Laurens?”

Washington could feel Laurens tense up at the mention of his home state without even looking at him. “Sir, why?” he asked. He sounded shocked, hurt. “I won’t get in another fight, I promise I’ve learned my lesson-”

Washington held up a hand. “The south is in need of a clever commander. You can step forward and shine there, and you can petition for your battalion of freed slaves.” He took a breath. “It’s safer down there. I haven’t forgotten my promise to Mrs. Hamilton, Lieutenant Colonel.”

Laurens’ composure faltered for only a second, his freckles flaring into sharp relief. “Sir…”

“I suggest you find Hamilton so that both of you may pack your tent. He’s sure to have stormed off somewhere.”

A long silence, then, “Yes, Sir.”

“And, Laurens?”

“Your excellency?”

“Don’t tell Hamiton about our conversation.” Understanding the level of favoritism Washington was showing him would surely make Hamilton even more insufferable.

“Yes, Sir,” Laurens said again, and then left.

Washington waited until his footsteps faded away, then sat heavily at his table. Infighting was the last thing he had hoped to deal with today. Still -- it did give him the excuse he’d been looking for to send Hamilton somewhere safer. And Laurens, as well. On the other hand, he’d lost the use of two aides in one day (more really; Hamilton did the work of at least three men).

No use dwelling, he decided. Wearily, he pulled a quill and a blank piece of parchment towards him. He had a letter to write to Mrs. Hamilton.

 

IV.

It took several moments before the firing died down after the white flag was raised, mostly because nobody believed it was real. The battle had gone on for a week, and the Continental Army had all forgotten that there was a world outside of the trench. But there was no sudden barrage after they halted their attack. There was, for the first time Washington could remember, silence on the battlefield.

A murmur swept through the Army; finally, Washington came to his senses enough to send Lafayette out to speak to the soldier waving the handkerchief. They spoke for only a few minutes before Lafayette returned and turned the world upside-down with three words: “They are surrendering.”

Washington was nearly knocked off his feet; the words swept over him like a wave. We won, he thought, and felt the urge to shout and jump in celebration. He refrained, reminding himself that nothing was over yet. They would have to negotiate the terms of surrender. He would have to get a party together. But still -- they had won.

Washington hardly had to say a word during the surrender negotiation -- Laurens did it all and, Washington realized, did a better job than he would have done himself. Hamilton was silten as well, more so than Washington had ever seen. Washingotn glanced sideways at him occasionally, but Hamilton’s eyes never left Laurens. He seemed to be glowing.

Washington escorted the British party out of the tent where the negotiations had taken place. He watched them return to their own camp, looking dejected and, above all, tired. That at least was something common to both sides: the battle had been exhausting.

He would need to gather a bigger party to escort the British troops out of Yorktown. He would do it as quickly as possible, he decided. The men would want to celebrate with the rest of the town, and there were sure to be free drinks and meals waiting for them at every bar and inn in the area. He returned to the tent to check over his maps and see who was best situated to lead the British forces away.

He felt a profound sense of deja-vu. Was it possible to walk into a tent here without finding Hamilton and Laurens?

One of Hamilton’s hands cupped Laurens’ cheek; the other had tangled itself in Laurens’ hair. For his part, Laurens had wrapped his arms around Hamilton’s waist. Their faces were pressed together -- Hamilton had to stand on his toes to reach Laurens’ mouth.

The word beautiful came to Washington’s mind, unbidden. He’d never seen two people so deeply wrapped up in each other before, and it stirred something in the pit of his stomach. He thought of his Martha, wondered if they looked like that together.

Then he came back to his senses.

He coughed loudly. Hamilton and Laurens sprang apart and turned to face Washington, looking terrified. Washington thought Laurens relaxed the faintest bit when he saw it was Washington, but Hamilton’s face remained frozen.

Washington took a deep breath. He hadn’t told them off before this, and he certainly wasn’t going to now, at the end of the war. Still, he couldn’t openly condone something like this. He wished he shared Hamilton’s talent for double-speak.

“I suggest you not let that happen in my tent again,” he said finally, brusquely. “Both of your commands will escort the British out of Yorktown, and then you are all dismissed.” He turned and walked stiffly out of the tent.

Hamilton and Laurens stared after him for a moment, slackjawed. Then Hamilton turned to Laurens, his face breaking into a grin. Slowly, Laurens grinned back.

“Should we go, then?” Laurens asked.

Hamilton pulled Laurens in quickly, kissing him one more time before the pair of them followed after Washington.

 

V.

Washington spent a lot of time in New York in the aftermath of the war. Freeing the nation had been one thing, but building it was another, and he traveled up north often to meet with the Continental Congress. He had a favorite bar that he frequented for lunch, not far from Hamilton’s residence.

“Such a shame,” someone was saying at the table next to him. Washington paid no mind, or tried not to. All of the Capitol’s gossips came here to hear and spread news. It could be useful, but today there was too much going on for Washington to get involved in hearsay. There were several important bills that needed to get through the Congress, and then the States. Washington privately thought that he would trade this job for the war in a moment.

“Such a bright boy, and a jewel of the South,” somebody else was saying. Washington tried to ignore them, but the conversation had caught his ear, and now he couldn’t stop listening.

“It’s no wonder Henry’s been absent from Congress meetings the last few days.”

Washington went white.

“Henry Laurens, you mean?” he asked, turning to his neighbors, his tone as conversational as possible.

“Yes, haven’t you heard?” siad someone, glancing left and right and speaking in a hushed tone. “His youngest son John was shot in South Carolina. Some sort of skirmish with the remaining British troops. Such a shame. He had such a future ahead of him.”

“A shame,” Washington agreed. He stood up mechanically, set what he hoped was enough money to pay for his lunch on the table, and strode out of the bar.

The Hamilton residence was close by, and Washington was there in a matter of minutes. Eliza’s face when she opened the door was pasty; she looked like she’d aged a year.

“I just heard,” Washington said as she ushered him inside. “How is he taking it? How are you taking it?”

Eliza shook her head. “It’s… Not good. I’m having a hard time on my own, but Alexander…” She shook her head again. “Come, maybe he’ll let you speak to him.”

She led him silently to Hamilton’s study. Washington knocked on the door, and when there was no answer, entered anyway.

The place was a mess. Washington wasn’t sure how much of that was Hamilton’s personality and how much was due to his current state of mind. There was no question, however, about the man himself. He didn’t even turn when Wahsington came in. He was staring at a piece of paper, not even writing, just watching it blankly.

“Hamilton,” Washington said quietly. No response. “Hamilton,” he said a bit louder.

Hamilton finally turned his head. The pain in his eyes nearly broke Washington’s own heart.

“Sir,” Hamilton said, his voice distant. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

“I heard about Laurens,” he said quietly, walking further into the room. He tried to rest a hand on Hamilton’s shoulder, but Hamilton flinched away. “What can I do for you?”

Hamilton shook his head slowly. “Nothing. Th-there’s nothing to be done. He’s…” Hamilton choked back what sounded like a sob.

Whenever one of Washington’s children had been sad or hurt, Washington had pulled them onto his lap, held their hands, and told silly stories to them until they started laughing. He felt the urge to do the same for Hamilton now. It was a senseless desire, but all he could think of was that Hamilton needed to be consoled, and Washington couldn’t think of how to do it.

“Sir, I have work to do,” Hamilton said suddenly. “I don’t mean to rush you, but unless there’s something urgent…”

Washington tried several times to speak before the words finally got out. “If there’s anything I can do…”

“I’ll let you know, Sir. I really do have to work on this. Our first trial is coming up in a few weeks.”

Washington stared at Hamilton for another minute, then silently left the room.

Eliza was waiting outside.

“I’m sorry,” he said to her. “I don’t know what to do for him.”

Her face fell. “It’s alright,” she said. “Thank you for coming. I’m sure… I’m sure it helped somehow.”

“Can I help you at all?”

“Thank you, but no.” Eliza was already showing him to the door. “We’ll manage, I’m sure. Thank you for coming by.” She closed the door before he could say another word.

It took a moment for Washington to realize that he’d been kicked out. Eventually he turned, started walking aimlessly, then purposely back to the Capitol. The bills still waited for him.

It was a war, he reminded himself. Men died. Even young men with futures and people who loved them.

He had kept the promise he’d made himself: he had kept Hamilton alive. Protecting him was a different matter entirely.

**Author's Note:**

> Historically, the duel was before Hamilton's wedding, which Laurens did not attend because he was confined to Pennsylvania as a POW, and Laurens did negotiate the surrender at Yorktown. In the musical Laurens was not at Yorktown, but he was at Hamilton's wedding, which was before the duel. For this fic I blended the timelines into what I thought worked best with the story I wanted to tell. 
> 
> Also: the signature on Washington's letter to Martha comes from [this](http://marthawashington.us/items/show/87).
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this <3 Comments and kudos are appreciated!


End file.
